


Oblivious

by PrincessSkylar



Category: Agent Pendergast Series - Douglas Preston & Lincoln Child, Gideon Crew Seriess - Douglas Preston & Lincoln Child
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Bad Flirting, I honestly forget about her sorrynotsorry, I spend a significant amount of time ripping on The Relic (1997), M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious, Pining, The Relic (1997) - Freeform, au where Helen doesn't exist lmao, bisexual D'Agosta, both of them they're both oblivious lmao, gay Pendergast, i rag on modern art, tw Penelope Cruz, tw The Relic (1997)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-29 06:54:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19824844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessSkylar/pseuds/PrincessSkylar
Summary: Pendergast tries to make a move on Vincent, but every attempt seems to fly over the detective's head. He progresses from compliments to confessions - but it takes something even more direct to get the message through.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this way back in December, but have been ridiculously lazy about posting it. For that, I am sorry. Also for writing in a different fandom every 250 years that I appear. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> In any case my new approach is "don't post it til it's finished," so no more promising first chapters that die off slowly and painfully! This one is short and sweet, as most will probably be from now on.

Pendergast felt bold. He would make a move. All of his attempts to determine Vincent's feelings had come up empty. He was too swayed by his own perception and wishes, and could not see things objectively. 

Which meant that one way or another, he would have to find out the truth. Even at the risk of rejection.

His first attempt was casual. He and Vincent were to be attending the opening of a new exhibit at the New York Museum of Natural History, at the invitation of Nora Kelly.

He had convinced Vincent to get a tailored suit.

“Every gentleman should have at least one tailored suit,” he had insisted. 

Pendergast, of course, knew exactly where to go, who to see, and how much to pay for the whole ordeal. Vincent had reluctantly agreed, and now he stood on the front porch of Pendergast's Riverside Drive abode, freshly shaved and standing tall in his new suit.

There was a glint in Pendergast's eye as he stepped through the door, before he subtly shook himself. “I must say, you look quite handsome in that new suit.”

Vincent smiled and shrugged, unaffected. “Thank you. I like your tie.” He nodded towards Pendergast's silver necktie. “Good to see you venturing into colors that aren't black.”

“I do like to mix it up, sometimes,” Pendergast replied with a dry smile, as he swept the door shut behind him. He gestured to the waiting Rolls Royce, Proctor at the wheel. “Shall we?”

The party was largely the same as any other Museum party, with hedonistic amounts of expensive food, expensive art, and expensive people. The exhibit was some modern-art thing, and Pendergast hadn't been bothered to learn more than was in the pamphlet Nora had given him. Truth be told, his interest in attending had had nothing to do with the exhibit or the museum.

After splitting up for the obligatory hand-shakes and small talk, the guests of honors gave their speeches. During this time, Pendergast quietly slipped through the crowd and back to Vincent's side. When the speeches were over, and the polite clapping had slowed to a stop, Vincent turned toward Pendergast.

“Bump into anyone of note?” asked Vincent.

“I have discovered that the mayor is a private collector of modern art.”

“I'll take that as a no.”

“That's the polite way to put it.”

This elicited half a laugh from Vincent, his eyes crinkling in amusement.

“Vincent?” Pendergast suddenly asked, suddenly feeling the need to make a second move. He paused as Vincent glanced up at him, amused smile lingering on his lips. In a carefully casual tone, he said, “Has anyone told you that your smile is absolutely breathtaking?” 

Vincent's smile widened briefly at the compliment, dropping his gaze modestly. “Well, thank you,” he said simply. He cleared his throat. “I haven't had the chance to thank Dr. Kelly for inviting us yet, care to join me?”

Pendergast felt both disappointment and relief and Vincent's avoidance. Mostly disappointment. He would have to try harder. Without betraying any of his inner turmoil, Pendergast nodded politely.

“I believe I saw her heading towards the hor d'oeuvres table.” He offered his arm, and allowed a small satisfied smile when Vincent accepted it, seemingly without a second thought.

\---

Pendergast's next attempt would require a more direct approach. After about two weeks, it became clear that Vincent was unresponsive to simple flirting. 

Sixteen days after the exhibit opening, he decided he would invite Vincent on a date.

They had met at the Riverside Drive estate, under the official reason of Pendergast offering advice on a case that Vincent was investigating. They had discussed the case in the library for about an hour, before the conversation had started to evolve and suddenly it was four in the afternoon.

“Are you doing anything this evening?” Pendergast asked, quietly slipping his watch back under his sleeve.

“No,” Vincent sighed and leaned back in his leather seat. “Other than comb over this damn case again. You?”

“Quiet evening at home. I wonder,” a pause so subtle only someone who knew him as well as Vincent did could perceive it, “If you would like to go out.” He added, “With me.”

This would be it. The moment of truth. But Vincent stretched his arms lazily over his head, expression unchanged. “Yeah, why not? Where do you wanna go?”

Pendergast found it uncharacteristically difficult to conceal his emotions. He felt his lip twitch. “The theatre?”

“Should I change?” Vincent asked, gesturing to his police uniform.

“We'll go Off-Broadway.”

\---

Another week of compliments, flirtations, and solicitations falling on deaf ears, and Pendergast was considering how to switch up his approach again, when Vincent pulled out an unexpected move.

He invited Pendergast to his apartment for homemade dinner and a movie. 

Pendergast was unsure what to make of it. Or what to expect to come of it. He had managed to wrangle most of his nerves by the time he reached the apartment, but all of that went out the proverbial window when he saw Vincent.

Pendergast had seen Vincent in a police uniform, a tailored suit, all manner of disguises, even in his underwear, but for no discernable reason, none of it compared to the feeling that swelled in his chest at the sight of Vincent in blue-jeans and a zip-up hoodie.

“Come in,” Vincent greeted, stepping aside. A faint sheen of sweat glistened on his brow. Pendergast tried not to think about it too much.

With a polite nod and a quiet, “Good evening,” Pendergast stepped through the door frame, his eyes quickly assessing the small apartment - which consisted of one main space divided by a counter into a kitchen and a larger living area, and one bedroom - before landing back on his host.

Apparently, Vincent had cooked a traditional Neapolitan lasagna recipe handed down from his grandmother. Pendergast noted with appreciation the careful - and not inexpensive - selection of wine. Perhaps his messages had been getting through, after all.

After a pleasant dinner of engaging conversation, they settled in for a movie, the subject of which Pendergast had not been informed.

Vincent grabbed the wine and their glasses, and led them to the couch. “Okay,” he said, as he set the drinks on the end table. “This is… Something I've been sitting on for a few months. I didn't know how to bring it up.”

Pendergast reclined on the sofa and raised one eyebrow quizzically, clamping down tightly on his spiralling thoughts. “Continue,” he softly prompted.

Vincent opened the cabinet on the television stand and pulled out a DVD box, still in the plastic wrapping. “You remember… That book that Bill wrote about the museum murders?”

A sense of dreadful curiosity replaced the fluttering excitement in Pendergast. “Yes?”

“Paramount made a film adaptation.” Vincent handed the box to Pendergast. “It looks… terrible.”

Pendergast examined the box, barely recognizing the imagery on the cover, other trains of thought abandoned. “No…”

“You're not in it.”

Pendergast felt a deep conflict of his judgement and his deep desire to know more. “This is… you?” He gestured to the man on the cover, who was, admittedly, not a terrible casting choice. 

Vincent nodded. “We could watch something else, but…”

Pendergast nodded in grim understanding. “Do we really have a choice?”

“I'm afraid not.”

Pendergast handed the DVD case back to Vincent, holding it almost as if it were offensive to look at. 

Without ceremony, Vincent ripped off the cheap plastic cover and popped open the case. A few moments later, they were seated side by side on the sofa, the only light a residual glow from the kitchen. 

Vincent skipped the old 1990s trailers and commercials, they arrived at a tacky menu screen. Before the obnoxious music began to swell, Vincent hit play, and the movie was starting.

Within two minutes they had broken their observant silence with quiet criticisms. It didn't take long before obnoxious became offensive, and Vincent responded rather sourly to an ill-placed joke about his divorce. 

“We can change it, if you want,” Pendergast offered.

“No, it's fine,” Vincent grumbled, “I have to know.”

Pendergast wasn't going to argue, but then another character was introduced: Margo Green, and he felt himself stiffen.

“No,” he heard Vincent mutter. 

They looked at each other for a moment. The movie droned on hideously. Vincent looked at the TV and back at Pendergast. He started to laugh, softly at first, then louder. 

“What the fuck are we watching?”

The laugh was infectious, and Pendergast found he couldn't help but smile. “This was your idea.”

“What was I supposed to do? Live with this knowledge without doing anything?”

“Does William know this movie exists?”

“Oh, he's not in it either. Don't ask him about it.”

Pendergast couldn't resist a chuckle at the mental image of Smithback, red-faced and ranting about this cheap parody of his story.

The rest of the movie was received with similar criticisms, until the two were talking over the movie so much they could hardly be considered to be watching it anymore.

A combination of a few glasses of wine and a horrific 1990s special effects attempt at the creature that had, as far as they could remember, been referred to as Mbwun, got to Vincent. Pendergast had never seen him laugh so hard, he bent forward, his frame shaking, one hand grasped Pendergast's knee as if for support.

“I-” Vincent wheezed, cleared his throat, and shook his head, looking away from the television, which now displayed a horrific abomination of a computer-animated monster. “It looks like something out of Starship Troopers, but,” Vincent risked another glance at the screen as the monster chased a screaming Penelope Cruz. “I can't- I can't watch this,” his voice strained with effort to contain his laughter. He abruptly paused the movie, shaking off the last of his fit. As an afterthought, he removed his hand from Pendergast's leg.

Vincent shook his head again and turned to Pendergast. Their eyes met, and Pendergast instinctively broke into a wide smile. Vincent's composure broke, and suddenly they were both laughing.

Perhaps it was the wine, but Pendergast could hardly resist the infectious laughter. His heart felt full from the sight and sound of Vincent's joy. 

Once Vincent had the laughter out of his system, he said, “There's fifteen minutes left. Shall we?”

Pendergast shrugged, swiveled the wine in his glass. “We've come this far.”

“Let's get this shitshow over with.” He pressed play, and they fell into a casual silence, respectfully watching to the end.

As soon as the credits started, Vincent turned the television off.

“Final thoughts?” Pendergast prompted.

“Fuck all that noise.”

Pendergast nodded thoughtfully. “Glad we're in agreement.”

Vincent chuckled. He downed the rest of his glass before standing to eject the dvd.

Pendergast stood as well. It was getting late, he would be expected to leave soon… right? 

When Vincent turned he seemed to be surprised to see Pendergast standing. He glanced at his watch. “Oh, it's later than I realized,” he muttered. “You… Heading out?”

“Soon, I should think,” Pendergast answered, fighting a twinge of disappointment. “Thank you for having me over, dinner was lovely.”

“Thanks for sitting through that movie with me,” Vincent answered with a chuckle. “Next time, you can pick the movie.”

“Very well, but you should know, I'm not going to be able to top that.”

“I sure hope not,” Vincent replied.

Pendergast let out a small breath of a laugh, his gaze dropped. He straightened. “I suppose I'll be going, then.”

“Right, I'll uh, walk you to the door.”

Pendergast had just pushed open the front door to Vincent's apartment when he suddenly stopped, and turned. When he looked at Vincent's face, something inside of him shifted into place. “Vincent,” he said, his voice firm despite the accelerating of his heart in his chest. He paused, wavering.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Vincent didn't look surprised, he only smiled affectionately. “Hey, I love you, too.”

A voice in Pendergast's brain screamed to kiss Vincent, but something stronger held him back. That still didn't mean anything, necessarily, right? They obviously loved each other, they were best friends, and they had both had a bit to drink. 

It wasn't worth the risk.

Pendergast smiled and nodded, awkwardly, before turning and reopening the door. “Good night, Vincent.”

“Get home safe.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pendergast gets his answer.

Pendergast had trouble falling asleep that night. His thoughts, usually so organized and contained, wandered restlessly. Again and again, zeroing in on Vincent. He had to make his next move soon, before he drove himself mad. And this time, he couldn't allow for any doubt. He might need to do something dramatic.

He spent the next week mulling it over. Formulating a plan and preparing for any variable. He planned what he would say, how he would say it, when and where. He had to get it right this time.

At the end of the week, Vincent came over for dinner. 

Pendergast had given Proctor and Mrs. Trask the night off, and prepared a dinner of beef-tenderloin steaks with port-rosemary sauce. He had made sure to procure some of Vincent's preferred brand of beer. Why he chose to subject himself to such an abhorrent drink, Pendergast could never guess.

At four o'clock Vincent arrived, by taxi, at the Riverside Drive mansion. Pendergast invited him in, and led him through the formal dining room, down the hall past the library. He had opted to serve dinner in the smaller, nearly unused dining room near the back of the house.

“I didn't even know this room was here,” Vincent commented, pausing in the doorway when he saw the dinner spread. 

“That is by design,” Pendergast explained, “This room has been converted from servant's quarters, it's location is intentionally subtle.”

“Why did you turn it into a dining room?” Vincent asked as he approached the table and took a seat.

“I find the formal dining room to be… well, a bit formal,” Pendergast answered simply, as he took a seat opposite Vincent at the small table.

Vincent nodded in understanding, eyeing his plate eagerly. “Amen to that.”

Pendergast gestured to the plate. “Please, feel free.”

Vincent didn't need to be told twice. He practically moaned as he sank his teeth into the first bite. He leaned back in his chair as he chewing thoughtfully. At last, he spoke, “You made this yourself?”

Pendergast answered with a polite nod. “Is it to your liking?”

“You kidding?” Vincent sat forward and stabbed the fork into the tenderloin for another bite, shaking his head. “You never cease to amaze me.”

Pendergast waved his hand dismissively. “Thank you, but that’s quite unnecessary.” 

Vincent rolled his eyes, sarcastically mimicked Pendergast’s dismissal. Pendergast smiled wordlessly in amusement, and the two ate in silence.

Within a few minutes, Vincent had cleared his plate. He grabbed the chilled bottle of Bud Light from the table and reclined in his chair as he took a drink.

Pendergast had only eaten about half of his meal, but he wasn’t particularly hungry. He had a question he wanted to ask - needed to ask. He cleared his throat, swivelled his glass of sherry. “May I ask you a rather frank personal question?”

Vincent eyed Pendergast curiously for a moment, then shrugged. “Yeah, go for it.”

Pendergast’s mouth felt dry. He licked his lips absentmindedly, gazing down at the drink in his hand. He chose his next words carefully, “Are you of the persuasion to seek romantic involvement with men?”

Vincent looked surprised by the question, but not offended. “You really don’t miss anything, do you?” He shook his head, shrugged. “Yeah, I mean, I mostly date women, but there have been a few, um…” His eyes flicked up to Pendergast’s face, then back down to his beer. “Exceptions.”

Pendergast nodded, relieved at his answer. “I see.”

Vincent nodded towards Pendergast. “And… You?”

“Well, yes, of course,” Pendergast answered dismissively, waving his hand. “Surely, you remember Gideon.”

Vincent frowned in confusion. “The art thief?” Pendergast merely made eye contact, and Vincent seemed to understand. “That… Makes a lot of sense, actually.”

Pendergast hid an amused smile behind his glass of sherry as he took a sip.

“What are the odds, huh?” Vincent mused, “How many gay cops do you suppose there were in 1995?”

“Probably more than you realize,” Pendergast pointed out.

Vincent shrugged, taking another drink.

Pendergast set down his glass and rose from his seat. “I hope you will join me for dessert. I made creme brûlée, and I was hoping to catch Captain Hayward's speech on Channel 5.”

Vincent stood as well, and Pendergast quickly cleared the table and led the way towards the kitchen. He placed the dishes in the sink, served two plates of creme brûlée and led the way to the study.

As he and Vincent seated themselves on the small leather sofa, Pendergast turned on the television. Within minutes, Captain Laura Hayward appeared on the screen, her small frame firm and confident. 

She spoke about the the murder case that NYPD Homicide had recently convicted for, and it would be difficult not to notice Vincent's proud glow when she mentioned his work on the case.

She explained the events of the case and finished by thanking the NYPD and the Mayor. Vincent and Pendergast quietly ate as they watched, and as Captain Hayward left the scene, Vincent set his plate aside and turned to Pendergast.

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

Pendergast nodded. “It's only fair.”

Vincent shifted in his seat. “So earlier, when you said you were, um, interested in men,” he began, and Pendergast felt an unexpected surge of apprehension. “You didn't say whether you like women, and now I'm curious.”

The apprehension vanished as quickly as it had come. Pendergast inclined his head. “I prefer the company of men,” he answered.

“What about…” Vincent hesitated, but pressed on. “Viola Maskelene?”

Pendergast shook his head, he had expected this question. “I believe I loved Lady Maskelene,” he answered sincerely, “Just not in the same way that I love-” the briefest hesitation as he looked at Vincent, “-men.”

Vincent nodded in understanding, covered his silence with another drink of Bud Light.

Pendergast watched him thoughtfully. “Did you really not know?”

Vincent shrugged, lowering the bottle. “I had my suspicions, but I didn't want to assume.” Pendergast simply nodded, and Vincent went on, “How did you figure me out, though? I haven't been with a man since… Well, before I even met you.”

Pendergast swivelled his sherry glass, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Let's just call it a lucky guess.”

Vincent grunted in acceptance, and the two fell into a brief silence. The drone of the television filled the still air. 

At length, Pendergast spoke again. “Vincent,” he began slowly. 

“Yes?” Vincent was looking at him, his expression was mild, but… Something in his eyes caused Pendergast to pause.

His carefully planned words escaped him, drowned out by the beating in his chest. 

There was a stillness.

Vincent was looking at him. 

Instinctively, Pendergast reached for his hand on the couch between them, for comfort. He hesitated.

Vincent was waiting to hear what he had to say, watching him patiently. He needed to say it. His voice seemed stuck in his chest. He knew what he had to say and the words swarmed in his head, repeating, taunting, daring him to say them aloud.

Vincent's gaze averted and Pendergast almost remembered how to breath, before suddenly Vincent's hand was in his and he was looking at Pendergast kindly, almost fondly.

Everything else was gone from his world, and Pendergast could only think of one thing to do.

He leaned forward and planted a firm kiss on Vincent's lips.

He felt Vincent stiffen for a moment, the grip on his hand tightened briefly.

His thoughts came crashing back like a tidal wave, his mind reeling and a sense of unrealness overwhelming him. He pulled away, heart pounding.

For a moment, they stared at each other.

Vincent swallowed, face glowing red. “Um,” he began.

“I'm sorry,” Pendergast blurted. His face felt hot. He tried to compose himself.

“Wait-”

“I meant to tell you,” Pendergast pressed on, “I didn't mean to, ah, act so impulsively, it's just that words seemed to have failed me here.”

“Pendergast.”

“Vincent,” a pause. “When I said I love you, I meant it. I… I don't know how else I can say it.”

“Aloysius.”

Pendergast stiffened, suddenly aware of how intently Vincent was looking at him. How patient and kind he was being. Fighting a rising sense of shame, Pendergast composed himself. “Yes?”

“Shut up.”

Pendergast was almost startled by this response, but suddenly, Vincent's hand was on his cheek and he was being pulled closer. Something inside of him clicked into place, and his whole being seemed to sigh in relief, and he relaxed as Vincent brought their mouths together in a second kiss.

A feeling swelled from his chest, a desperate desire to express to Vincent just how deeply be cared for him. He pressed the feeling down, careful and observant of cues from Vincent. Just as he thought the feeling might overwhelm him, Vincent pulled away, breathing heavily, just far enough that he could look Pendergast in the eye.

Vincent shrank away a little when their eyes met, suddenly unsure of himself. His gaze dropped, but a smile played at his lips. His hands dropped to Pendergast's, and a sense of calm washed over the room.

“I love you, too,” Vincent said softly.

The air was clear, and they looked at each other with new resolve. There was nothing more to be said between them. Vincent took Pendergast by the waist, and he pulled him close, closing the space between them as Pendergast's own hands found their way to Vincent's shoulders.

Lips gave way to teeth and tongues, chests pressed together, and hands clung desperately to clothed backs, pulling them close together. Before he knew it, Pendergast was pushing Vincent backwards into the couch.

He felt Vincent smile against his lips, and they slowly broke apart.

Vincent's smile was dazzling, and the feeling of unreality returned. This time, though, Pendergast reveled in it. Without thinking, he asked quietly, “Do you want to stay the night?”

Vincent's eyebrows went up at the rather frank question, and Pendergast felt flustered. “It's alright if you say no, I'm quite content knowing I communicated--”

“Al.” Pendergast's mouth snapped shut, and Vincent was smiling radiantly again. “I would love to.”

**Author's Note:**

> The note I frantically scribbled in my phone during my break at work as the prompt for this fic reads:
> 
> P: you have beautiful eyes  
> V: thank you  
> P: you look sexy in that suit  
> V: hey thanks, you too  
> P: do you wanna go out?  
> V: sure, we could check out that new restaurant in New Hampshire  
> P: i love you  
> V: i love you too, man  
> P: I Want To Marry You  
> V:... like for tax benefits?
> 
> Shout out to QueenoftheNile for beta-ing (sort of lol)


End file.
